Fear the Wolf Page 11

  She didn’t even glance at it. “A girl’s got to eat.”

  I swallowed my disgust.

  “Before I go,” she said, “what’s your name, cropgirl?”

  “Senla. And I told you, I never worked in the fields. I was a garment weaver.”

  “Was?”

  “Well …” I didn’t know what to say for a moment, then the words came to me. “What am I without a loom and people to make garments for?”

  The nomad shrugged. “Nothing, apparently.”

  That hurt. Nothing. Without wanting to, I thought about my mother’s last words and the recurring dream of my father—the rough kiss on my forehead, his dark hair, and his mismatched eyes glistening sadly as he drifted away. I was nothing. I was no one.

  I asked the nomad, “May I know your name?”

  “Neverdark. And oh, Senla, if I get to your old village and find out you lied to me, I will find you.”

  Hoping she didn’t see me gulp, I nodded. As she strutted away, she yelled over her shoulder, “You can tell your friend to come out of the bushes now. Never known anyone to take so long emptying their bowels.”

  I took a moment to calm myself before returning to Aldan. He sat cross-legged in the bush, staring my way as I approached. He was so absorbed in watching me, he hadn’t realized he wasn’t alone. Sniffing around his satchel on the ground behind him was a small, furry animal. Before I figured out what it was, it heard me coming and scurried off with a hiss.

  Startled, Aldan threw himself over and yelped.

  “Don’t worry,” I said. “It was just a little bush animal.”

  Aldan crinkled his nose, frowning, then seemed to forget about it altogether. He sat up straight with a grin. “I did what you said. I didn’t come out, and look!” He pointed. “I got my sword and shield ready!”

  I raised my eyebrows. “Hmm …” Neatly laying his sword and shield out on the ground beside himself wasn’t quite what I had meant when I had told him to prepare. I forced a smile. “Well done, you did great.”

  “The bad woman pushed you over, didn’t she? She’s gone now. Is she coming back?”

  “I don’t think so. We should leave, to be safe. She might return with more people. Are you ready to walk again?”

  Lifting and dropping his shoulders, Aldan curled his upper lip. He acted as if I had asked a great deal of him and he was trying very hard to be noble and fair. “Yeah … yeah. I think I am ready to walk.”

  “You’re a good, strong man, Aldan,” I said, allowing him his moment.

  As we set off, Aldan seemed the happiest he had been since we’d left our village. A few times he said, “I’m a good, strong man, aren’t I, Senla?” and each time, I told him he was.

  23

  Heeding Neverdark’s advice, we traveled along the trading route more cautiously than ever. We walked parallel to the path and returned to it every few hundred strides to ensure we hadn’t gone astray. We never encountered Neverdark’s clan.

  I assumed Aldan hadn’t heard what Neverdark said about the length of our journey, and I decided against telling him. I was glad not to listen to his whining for the time being. I wasn’t a fool, though. Whenever we stopped for meals, I warned him to eat and drink less. If we didn’t find a clear spring soon, and fruits and greens that were safe to eat, we would run out of supplies before tomorrow’s end.

  A few times, doubt ate away at me like a pestering bloodgnat. What if Neverdark had lied? Perhaps she had sent me down this path so she could easily find me after ransacking my old village. A frightening vision assailed me: Neverdark returning with other nomads to kill us. Or worse.

  But I reasoned with myself and forged ahead. If Neverdark had wanted to kill me, she could have done so after I told her about my village.

  The day went smoothly. We walked at a steady pace, stopped to rest at meal times, and—what I was most grateful for—nothing attacked us. We saw deer, tuskhogs, rabbits, and spikebacks, but all fled at the sound of twigs snapping under our feet. The closest we came to danger was when a burrowbear lunged out of its den to ward its home with a chittering cry. That time, we fled.

  When dark began to fall, my worries returned. We’d found no food or water to replace what we’d consumed, and since leaving the spiky tree this morning, I hadn’t seen another tree like it. How would we survive tonight, if the night-apes returned?

  We had little choice but to risk a fire. I found us a clearing, then gathered wood and kindling. We were far enough from the path that anyone traveling it wouldn’t see the light of our small blaze. That didn’t mean nomads from every other direction wouldn’t be drawn to us, but what else could I do?

  We slept in warmth, at the least. A few times in the night, I rose in panic after dips in the temperature sent shivers all over me. I threw more wood on the fire, checked for starry eyes in the treetops, and then struggled to slip back into a slumber.

  Vague night terrors haunted my fitful sleep. A dash of auburn fur, flashing out of my home. My mother is in there. Again and again, I saw the red-orange thing fly out of the house. It had killed her. In the dream, I knew that; in waking, I knew that. But what I didn’t know tormented me the most. Larger than a wolfling, but smaller than the Wolf—and fast, very fast. What foul beast had killed my mother?

  Thrashing and tossing, I half slept, determined to know the thing’s identity. Many times the auburn beast grew clearer in my mind, so very nearly almost clear enough for me to discover its form. I felt as though I could reach into the dream and grasp it, it was that close. But time and again its identity slipped through the fingers of my tortured mind.

  Morning came as a relief. Had I not slept at all, I might have felt more refreshed. But at least the nightmare was over. I had hoped that upon awakening, the awful dream would gain the clarity I had groped for in the night.

  It didn’t.

  But at least we were alive. No midnight visits from night-apes or nomads. We’d been fortunate. It was unlikely to happen again.

  A rustling came from my left. I twisted in the direction of the sound and discovered we weren’t alone.

  It was the small, furry animal that had sniffed at Aldan’s satchel in the bushes while he was hiding from Neverdark. Had it followed us all this way? Like before, it was rummaging around Aldan’s bag, pressing its little face into the fabric.

  “Hey,” I said quietly. It jerked toward me. “You’re a nosy little thing, aren’t you?”

  Aldan woke then. He sat up, rubbed his eyes with his big hands, and looked at the animal.

  Because it hadn’t scurried off this time, I had the chance to figure out what it was. It looked like a large ball of fur with tiny legs poking out the bottom, and a fuzzy club-shaped tail sticking up at the back. Its flat round face blended almost seamlessly into its body of straw-colored fur. The face would have disappeared into the body entirely, if not for its massive brown saucer eyes and floppy bat-like ears drooping above them.

  “You’re a nosy little bushcat,” I said.

  Aldan laughed and repeated, “He’s nosy, ain’t he? Naughty, nosy bushcat!”

  “It might be a she.” I didn’t know how to tell the animal’s gender. Even if I knew what to look for, I doubted I could see through the bushcat’s mass of tangled fur.

  My people had never kept animals as companions. To do so would have suggested we considered ourselves superior. Masters of animals. It wasn’t right for any beast to rely on us for survival, for us to bargain its independence with the promise of food and protection. But when it came to bushcats, we had mostly overlooked their presence in the village. We had never let them into our homes or given them attention, but everyone knew they were vital to preserving our food stocks. They would catch and kill the rodents that chewed their way into our granaries and spoiled our food.

  I’d always found it contradictory, the way my people had looked past the bushcats slinking about the village. No one had dared admit it, but those bushcats relied on us. Not directly, no. But they had relie
d on the rodents our food attracted. Was that not an act of presuming too much? Had we all deceived ourselves into pretending it wasn’t, because we knew we needed the bushcats to protect our food stores so we could survive the winters?

  After what had happened to my village, I didn’t care much anymore. The bushcat before me now didn’t look as if it could kill a thing. Its legs trembled, and its big, innocent eyes flicked from me to Aldan.

  Aldan sang, “Nosy, nosy bushcat.”

  “I think it’s frightened,” I said and waved him to be quiet. “Hey, Nosy,” I called toward the animal in a gentle, high-pitched tone. “Why don’t you come say hello?”

  I reached out a hand and wiggled my fingers. For some reason, I thought the gesture would come across as a friendly beckon. Instead, it made the bushcat leap off the ground and dart into the forest with a shriek and a hiss.

  Laughter burst out of Aldan. He flopped onto his side and rolled around, cackling. His amusement was exaggerated, like most of his reactions, but it made me laugh too. I laughed until I could hardly breathe, brushing aside the drop of shame I felt over accidentally terrifying the bushcat.

  Soon we were on our way again. To my delight, I heard the occasional rustle from the bushes and quiet meows on our journey. I turned around each time to see a ball of fur dash out of sight. With its earthy colors, the bushcat blended into the branches and dirt. I hoped it would learn to trust us and come closer. While growing up, I’d often wondered what their fur felt like, but I’d feared that if I ever sneaked a bushcat some attention, it would have followed me around the village and landed me in trouble.

  That was no longer a concern.

  Around late morning, I found something I’d been searching for.

  “Aldan,” I said excitedly, “wait there and look that way. I have a surprise.”

  He crinkled his nose at the order but turned away with an anxious smile stretching his lips.

  I knelt down and lifted the blood-red leaf I had spotted to get a better look at the rocks beneath. They were in a shallow puddle. The water had absorbed the leaf’s color and stained the rocks, leaving them all different shades of pink and red.

  Aldan already had a crimson rock in his collection, but not a beautiful rose pink one like the small stone I picked out now.

  I jumped to my feet and scampered over to him. “Look, Aldan, look! I’ve found a new color stone for you.”

  He spun around with a squeal, flapping his arms. But when he saw the stone in my outstretched palm, his eyebrows and mouth instantly flattened into a scowl. He folded his arms and looked away.

  “Aldan, what’s the matter?”

  “I hate pink,” he muttered.

  “Huh?”

  “I HATE PINK!” He threw his arms up, then thrashed them about.

  I backed off. Wrapping my fingers around the stone, I tried to calm my racing heart and ignore the sad clench in my stomach. I’d only wanted to make him happy. I’d thought finding new rocks for his collection would keep his mind off the long journey, distract him from his thirst and hunger and aching muscles.

  “It’s all right, Aldan. I’ll throw it in the bushes. You don’t have to—”

  “You know I hate pink. Everyone knows I hate pink. I’ve always hated pink, haven’t I? I hate it!”

  “Yes, Aldan—”

  “I hate pink, don’t I?”

  When I tried to answer, my throat closed in on itself. Aldan paced toward me, his eyes darting in all directions, his hands reaching out for me with twitchy fingers as if he wanted to strangle me but was pulling himself back.

  “You know I hate pink, don’t you?” he asked. And he asked again, and again. No matter how many times I reassured him, his apparent relief from hearing my answer lasted under a second each time. His eyes shone bright and wet, growing whiter around the edges.

  Unsure of what to do, I put my hands on his shoulders and then ran them along the sides of his arms to soothe him. “Aldan, I know you hate pink now. You’ve told me, all right?”

  “I’ve always hated pink.”

  “I know. You hate pink. You do.”

  “I … I do.” He nodded. He sucked in a long breath, and his body convulsed, but he appeared to calm a little.

  My shoulders slumped pleasantly, a sense of weight lifting off of me, and I swallowed to relieve my dry throat. I gave Aldan a cautious smile, hoping he’d smile back.

  White light flooded my vision. I stumbled backward and grabbed at my nose. My fingers came away warm and wet. For a moment all I could smell was rust, but then my throbbing nose swelled until my nostrils blocked up. My head was ringing with the pain.

  When the white blotches and sparkles faded from my sight, I glared at Aldan. “Why did you do that! Why did you hit me?”

  His fist was still clenched. He paced side-to-side now, moving jerkily. He seemed to switch between fear, remorse, and anger, his expression changing from second to second.

  He came at me again.

  Lunging backward, I threw my arms out in defense and dropped the little pink stone. Blood stood out on my fingers where I had grabbed at my nose. “Aldan, I know you hate pink. I know you do. Now stop!”

  It was futile. His eyes had turned to murder. He rushed at me with both fists in the air. Something about the way he attacked terrified me. He didn’t punch by drawing his elbow back, or with a practiced swing of the arm; he brought his clenched fists down from above, thumping with simple, savage strength. It was how I imagined night-apes would pummel their prey to death.

  I ran behind the nearest trees, snaking through them as Aldan followed. He didn’t seem to realize, or remember, that he had a sword at his side, tucked under his belt. I was beginning to think he didn’t understand the concept of using the weapon. Right now, that could only be a good thing.

  Hoping desperately to reason with him, I resisted the urge to draw my own sword. Even if he overpowered me and I had no other way to break free, I didn’t think I could go on living with the knowledge that I had killed him.

  I dashed from tree to tree. Wear him down. Screaming in rage, he charged at me repeatedly. His fingernails sliced my neck and ripped the sleeve of my tunic, but I managed to slip away and dive behind another trunk. Wear him down until his anger has no energy to draw from.

  It soon became clear that only I was growing tired.

  I was about to reach into my satchel for the paralyzing needle when I remembered—

  Distract him.

  “Hey, look! Up there!” I spoke with such lively energy it snapped Aldan out of the moment. We both came to a stop as he followed my pointing finger. “See the clouds through that gap, Aldan? Let’s see what shapes we can find—”

  Aldan’s head lowered. Scowling, he took one slow step toward me. “I don’t want to play—”

  “Oh, wow! Look at that one. It’s shaped like a … spade.” I was making it up, but that didn’t matter. All that mattered was that it worked.

  With obvious reluctance, Aldan gazed up through the gap in the canopy again. “No, it’s not.”

  “What shapes can you see, then?”

  He squinted, his face becoming more creased by the moment. “There’s not no shapes. They’re just clouds.” Gloomily, he cast his head back down. He began pacing again, but it wasn’t in my direction. I’d managed to divert his frustration toward the game. For now.

  “Why don’t you look again?”

  “I don’t want to.” He looked back up at me, and his eyes glinted.

  Keep him distracted. “Let’s … have some food.”

  “It’s not lunchtime.”

  “I know. But are you hungry?” I knew he had to be, considering the smaller rations we were on.

  “Uh … yeah.”

  “Then we’ll have lunch now, and I’ll let you eat as much as you want to.”

  He scratched his head, tufting his plain hair. “Much as I want?”

  “As much as you want.”

  24

  While Aldan ate in the clear
ing, I sat across from him and worried. My body was alive with every sense—every sense except for smell, thanks to my swollen nose. The bleeding had stopped, but my nostrils felt as if they were packed with dirt.

  My eyes never left Aldan. The tiniest sound from any direction startled me, which was impressive, given how tense my limbs were.

  What had happened?

  Aldan had seemed distressed for much of yesterday, but this morning he’d been fine. He had even seemed cheery, laughing at the bushcat running away in fright.

  His sudden rage wouldn’t have been as terrifying if he were smaller and weaker. But I was all too aware how easily he could have killed me.

  What frightened me most was that his attack had come out of nowhere. One moment, I was comforting him and feeling good about that, and the next, I was reeling backward with a bloody nose.

  Or perhaps there had been signs. Even so, knowing I hadn’t seen these warning signs only added to my unease. How could I go near him again without fearing he might suddenly attack? What if, in the middle of the night, a dark mood came over him and he strangled me in my sleep?

  These worries pestered me as I watched him eat. I had given him what remained of my food, throwing my last pouch of dried fruit and nuts over to him so I wouldn’t have to get too close. With the tension in my stomach, I couldn’t have eaten now, anyway. Later would be another matter.

  A few times while eating, Aldan mumbled to himself, “I don’t like pink.” And every now and then, he stopped and stared at me with malice. His intentions were so clear it almost felt as if I could read his thoughts, as if I could hear him trying to determine the best time to strike. But then he would shake his head and refocus on eating.

  When the food was gone, he sobbed.

  I stayed sitting, at least a good five strides from him. He blubbered and wailed, and, without looking at me, said over and over how sorry he was. I didn’t dare ask him to lower his voice, for fear he might lash out again. For all I knew, every nomad and beast in the forest could hear his cries.